One For the Pages
by sithmarauder
Summary: A fic for the tumblr prompt "marriage." Five minutes into the fitting, Gabriel decided he really hated tuxedos. Sabriel.


**Title: One For the Pages  
****Pairing(s): Sam Winchester/Gabriel; hints of Dean Winchester/Castiel.  
****Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even the "marriage" idea was mine!**

A tumblr prompt from user _kingofdunce_. Also I wish I could write these guys better butNOPE. Single tear.

-x-

Five minutes into the fitting, Gabriel decided he fucking hated tuxedos.

"Gabriel, if you don't stop moving then I _am_ going to keep needling you," Castiel said seriously, somehow managing to look _and_ sound stern through a mouthful of pins that he was carefully and meticulously trying to stab into every inch of Gabriel's sensitive person. Gabriel sent him a withering look from where he stood atop a podium, mentally contemplating ways he could make his brother's life miserable after this.

He would start with putting pins of his own in the bed Gabriel knew Castiel, the little sneak, was sharing with Sam's douchey brother Dean. Honestly, points off for originality there - Gabriel slept with his Winchester _first._

Twisting, Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, wincing a little when the movement caused one of the pins to press painfully into his ribcage.

"Torture isn't very becoming, Castiel. I mean, I get that you and the less attractive Winchester are probably into that sort of thing—I respect your lifestyle choice, really—but this is, sadly, the twenty-first century. That also means that floor-length trenchcoats are out."

Castiel's answer was nothing more than a small frown, and Gabriel was left tapping his foot impatiently while he finished up. At one point Castiel had moved to grab the roll of yellow measuring tape that had been draped around his shoulder, but that had fallen to the ground when he had accidentally stabbed Gabriel's side at one point, and Gabriel had made sure to kick it spitefully into a corner.

"No clue, Cas, sorry," he had said in a smarmy tone of voice when Castiel thought to ask where the tape went, and Castiel had merely sighed in frustration before returning to his task of making Gabriel wish he and Sam could just continue living together as they already were. They were practically joined at the hip anyway - who was to know? But the damn moose wanted to make things _proper_ and _official_ and _maybe_ Gabriel had a bit of a soft spot for those multi-coloured eyes and the way they could literally make him bend over backwards when Sam had a mind for it.

So when Sam had asked, Gabriel, moron that he was beginning to suspect he was, had said yes.

(And no, Gabriel didn't _really_ think he was a moron. Please, he knew _exactly_ how intelligent he was, considering the fact that, hello, he was marrying Sam Winchester at some undetermined point in time that wasn't at all two months from now.)

Even now he could see the simple white-gold band on his finger touching the light, studded sparingly with diamonds. ("Weird question to ask, Winchester. If this information is truly crucial to your very existence, then I'll tell you I like diamonds. Now there's a new candy store that opened down the road—what? Shut your cakehole, Sam; I just want to look.")

"Hey, Castiel, did you know I'm getting married in two months?" Gabriel asked. Castiel, who had dropped to his stomach in an effort to reach the yellow measuring tape (that had innocently made its way under a display rack), glanced back at him.

"Of course. You sent me a frantic text message saying that you-"

"Oh, Cas, is Dean not sullying your mind enough? You've got a lot to learn about rhetorics, baby bro."

"That wasn't—"

"Details!" Gabriel vanished into the change room, emerging a few seconds later in a faded jacket and brown slacks to the sight of a grinning Sam Winchester and a disgruntled looking Dean.

"Sammich!" Gabriel said cheerfully, watching as Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname. "You just missed the fun! Cas here was showing me the finer points of some Chinese needle torture, I'm sure."

"He exaggerates," Castiel, the traitor, said from behind the counter. "I could always charge you the full price of the tux, if you wanted."

Gabriel paused mock-thoughtfully as he slung a lazy arm around Sam's waist. "Mmm, no, sorry," he said. "My chequebook just doesn't like the thought of handing my money out, you see."

"How can you stand him?" Dean demanded of Sam, though his tone was way less biting than it might have been two years ago, when Gabriel had made a point of being as obnoxious as possible during more than one social outing. Sam, for his part, merely grinned.

"Once you get past the personality, he's great in bed."

"Sam, you cut me to the core," Gabriel said, affecting a hurt tone as he pressed a hand against his heart. "This kind of tear can only be remedied by spaghetti, courtesy of a fine restaurant and your credit card." He wiggled his eyebrows. "You game?"

Sam laughed, and Gabriel thought that it was quite possibly one of the greatest sounds ever. Then he reflected on how stupid that thought was and reminded himself never to think it again because _domestic_ just didn't look good on him.

"You two head out," Dean said gruffly, shoving his hands into a pocket as he ended the latest episode of _Eyesex_, staring Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak. Gabriel slipped his hand into the back pocket of Sam's jeans and rolled his own eyes.

"Right. Come on, Moosechester, let's go," he said.

Later, when they were situated in a nice booth in a restaurant that seemed to have a thing for dark red colours, Sam asked, "So you're okay with this?"

"I prefer _Lakeside Harpies_—the staff there has more personality—but it's very nice."

Sam gave him a look. Gabriel sobered up almost immediately.

"'Course I am, Sam," he said, suddenly uncomfortable. "Think I'd still be wearing this if I wasn't?" He held up his hand, where seven months of wear had already left a ring-shaped groove in his finger that he saw on the rare instances he removed it.

Sam looked at the ring with an almost wry smile. "I'll get you a better one someday."

Gabriel snatched his hand back. "No way, Sam. This one's beginning to grow on me. Seriously, kid, I'm fine. Hi, guess what, I kind of love you, yeah? It's that overrated, warm feeling I get when I wake up in the morning and you're still sleeping beside me, just resting and open and you. And some other flowery crap." He leaned back in his seat.

Sam's smile, when it appeared, was painfully brilliant. Without thinking, Gabriel sent back his own version, the one with the permanently sardonic edge to it that Sam learned to read into long ago.

"I'll wear that stupid tux for you and it'll be great. Textbook wedding. One for the socialite pages. And when I say I do, Sam Winchester, don't you ever think that I will regret one single word of it."


End file.
